


Hiraeth

by fridgehorror



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Homesickness, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Panic Attacks, Vaguely revised, emotional insecurity, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 01:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20788670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fridgehorror/pseuds/fridgehorror
Summary: everyone & their mother's used that word for the title but nothing else was quite fitting.





	Hiraeth

Groggily blinking his eyes open, Wes yawned. He was welcomed by the blurry sight of green tapestry and sunlight hitting him in the face. Quietly shifting, he felt the still presence of Woodie beside him. The man was fast asleep, his arms wrapped around a makeshift pillow that Wes had sewn together for them. The tent was so warm with two of them there, it certainly beat sleeping alone. He almost didn't want to get up for the day. Wes quietly groaned, planting his face against Woodie's back. When he had the luxury of a real bed and a comfortable life he took time to himself. Now that he lived in the wilderness, full to the brim with magic, & wild creatures things were a little different. One couldn't just take a lazy day out here. There was wood to be cut, food & water to be gathered, threats to prepare for and the drastic changes in season. Despite the hardships, he was comfortable, if he ignored the throbbing in his leg from a recent hound attack. Woodie had patched that up clean with some poultice and a lot of coaxing. He wasn't exactly a model patient.

The mime rolled over on his side, running a hand through his hair, tangling his fingers through the strands. Maybe he could just wait until Woodie woke up? Then the both of them could get up together. Then again, it would also be pretty nice to get some food in his stomach. Wes groaned once again, pulling his pillow over his face. Pulling it away with a sigh, he slumps the pillow over his chest. He stared up at the tent roof, weighing his options. Getting up now meant he could eat and get a start on something for Woodie, too. He was sure his birds would appreciate breakfast as well. Staying in the tent, however, meant he was warm and he didn't have to walk on his bad leg. 

Option A. 

Sigh. 

As much as he hated it, the hunger pangs in his stomach were becoming a little unbearable. Wes slipped the woolen blanket from himself, tucking his half beside Woodie. He dropped his pillow off behind him, leaning down just to kiss the other sweetly on his scruffy cheek before heading out of the tent. 

He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight, wincing as his leg scuffed the ground as he crawled out. Still, the smell of early morning dew hit his nose, and a light breeze rustled the trees and the tent flaps behind him. A nice morning to cheer his spirits.

A nice morning, except for his two birds chattering and flapping incessantly from their cages. 

Alright, alright. Breakfast time. Taking the first few steps was a bit painful, his injured leg not yet adjusted to walking on. Maybe he could ask Woodie to help him make a splint? It couldn't be that hard. Limping, Wes made his way to the right of the campsite. There was a small chest in the kitchen area devoted to seeds to which went to the birds. It was a small part of the camp, two birdcages on either side of him, floor lined with beefalo wool carpeting stolen from a Clockwork raid for gears. It added a touch of homeliness in his opinion. Beside the seed chest were two iceboxes made from the gears he had gotten with the carpeting. He hoped it had some meat from their last hunts and rabbit checks. Their gardens made sufficient for the fruits and vegetables in their meals. It was rather surprising to see the sheer amount of vegetables Woodie would eat, compared to the amount of meat he would eat. A man of his stature always came off as more of the meat & potatoes type to Wes.  
He hummed thoughtfully, scooping up a handful of seeds from the chest. Sighing quietly, he noted that this morning seemed eerily peaceful. Maybe today would be a good day. They don't get many of those.

Wes deposited the seeds into both of the cages, watching the birds thankfully gobble up their breakfasts. If they had a little spare monster meat, maybe he could treat the critters. If you could call monster meat a treat. All the same, a small smile broke across his cheeks, enjoying the peace of him & his birds. 

Until his stomach growled.

Oh, right. Wes gently slapped his head, realizing he had been so caught up in thought that he had forgotten to eat himself. He found his way into one of the iceboxes, pulling out a few slabs of meat & some eggs. Breakfast would be very nice right now. Quietly resigning to the fire pit, he struck flint to stone and ignited a few odd logs quickly. Using a thin sheet of stone as a skillet or pan was innovative, right? Cracking the eggs over the side, Wes grinned at the satisfactory sizzle of egg whites meeting warm stone. The smell of cooked eggs wafted through the air, the warmth of the fire radiating up onto his cheeks. A content sigh rolled off Wes' lips, shifting the eggs with a spare stick.

Once those were done, he quietly scraped them onto a seperate slab of rock. He supposed it was a plate, if could flat slabs of marble be considered that. Replacing the eggs with a few pieces of meat, he repeated the process. With breakfast done, Wes set his & Woodie's shares aside in two seperate lots. Wes dusted off his pants, then stumbled his way back to the tent, prying the flaps open. He leaned down, gently shaking Woodie's shoulder. The man was snoring like a freight train, and still comfortably out like a light. Wes frowned. He gave Woodie's shoulder a slightly rougher shake.

_Come on, you big lug. _

The man rolled over, peered one eye open and grumbled something illegible. Wes smiled down at him, cupping his face and cocking an eyebrow. A look that told him to get up in the gentlest way possible. The woodsman yawned, placing a hand on top of Wes', smiling back. "G'morning, hon." He murmured.

Wes smiled a little wider, signing back "Good morning." as he retracted his hand. He'd been slowly but surely teaching Woodie simple words and phrases in sign as time went on. Woodie was far from fluent, but he was good with learning new languages. This would be his fourth. Wes gestured for him to follow, before crawling out of the tent. 

He did as asked, following him from the tent. Wes made his way back to their breakfasts, lifting his own, figuring Woodie would follow. A quiet hiss of pain sounded from Wes as he sat, his leg absolutely throbbing from overuse & overstimulation. He silently lifted Woodie's share, and offered it to him.

"That need looked at again?" Woodie asked, sitting alongside him, taking his breakfast as he went.

He shook his head, just shrugging in response. It just needed to rest, especially after him jostling it around all morning. Wes sat back, food in his lap. There's a pause from the man. He missed silverware. That's one thing he wished they had. Quietly, he picked up his eggs, scarfing one down in a single go. Covering his lips, he heard a chortle of a laugh from Woodie. 

He shrugged.

Wes picked at his second egg, ultimately realizing eating a bit too fast made his stomach hurt worse. So he took his time, splitting the other egg in two with the stick he had used to cook. This was nice. All they had to worry about was Bearger in a week or so, and Autumn would be easy sailing. Wes took another chunk out of his egg, eating it up graciously. Woodie was already near done with his meal. That being said, he always wolfed his food down, though. Quietly, Wes ate up the second egg, slower this time. He didn't feel like losing his breakfast later. 

"Y'know, you're one heck of a cook." Woodie remarked as he finished off the last of his meat, talking with his mouth a bit full, but he was legible. "I 'unno if I could pull off half the stuff you make."

"Thank you!" He signed back, with a wide grin. 

His gaze went from the woodsman, back to his food and he took a bite from his meat. It was Koalaphant, if he could tell by the taste. The both of them had tracked down two of them a little less than a week ago, although wary of the likelihood of a Varg or a Ewecus. Nasty creatures.

"How's your leg doin', eh?"

Wes swallowed hard, coughing a little. He didn't chew that piece as throughly as he could of. The mime patted his chest a few times, wheezing, and doubling over himself. A short pause, followed by a quiet "Whew". The mime gave a thumbs up, still looking at the ground defeatedly. He leaned on his elbows, inhaling through his nose. Could of choked there. That would of been one of the more undignified ways he'd went out. 

"Thumbs up for your leg or near chokin?" 

Wes held up two fingers for the latter. 

"Ah. Gotcha. So how about the leg?" Woodie shifted closer to him, trying to get a better look at the bandaged appendage. He tilts his head. 

Wes shook his head, giving him a thumbs down. Frowning, he rolled up his pant leg revealing the wounded area. The bandages were stained with blood that had soaked through them overnight. Maybe agitating the wound hadn't helped. At all. Wes pulls his legs closer to himself, huffing quietly. He lays his head on his knees, staring down at the ground. 

"Christ." There was a mumble or two from Woodie that he didn't quite hear as the man stood. Woodie squints, probably thinking. He looked down at him, then his gaze met their chest area. Woodie began making his way over to them. "I'm gonna need to re-bandage that, 'n' clean it up." He called behind him, waving a hand flippantly. 

A sigh broke from Wes as he rubbed at his neck. He was hoping he wouldn't say that. There was no use getting an infection, especially out here. He shifts uncomfortably, still staring at the floor, fumbling with the twig he still held in his hand. The distraction was nice, besides the clatter of Woodie searching for more bandages. They had made plenty, although they were supposed to be saved for winter when resources were few and far between. But they had enough. He hoped. Gloved hands twirl the twig, pressing it between two palms. From the other side of their camp Wes could almost hear Woodie cheer "Aha!" triumphantly. The man rose, turning around bandages in tow, making his way back over to him. Setting the twig aside, Wes looked down at Woodie as he knelt before him. 

"You know the drill." He stated, setting the supplies aside. 

Wes nods, although not content about the situation. He really just wanted to keep the old bandages on, and not deal with the stress of reapplying. It already stung a great deal the first time, he expected the same this time. He wasn't exactly about to complain or tell Woodie not to help fix him up, but... There was a gentle squeeze on one of his hands, and his eyes are met with Woodie's, worried. 

"Are you okay? I get it's buggin' you but we gotta take care of it, before you up n lose a leg." He squeezed his hand a little tighter. "I just don't wanna see you get sick or even more hurt, Wes." 

Silence between the both of them. He was right, and Wes knew it. It didn't quell his apprehension, but he knew he was right. Was he shaking? Woodie sat up a little, gently taking Wes by the shoulders. "Am I okay to fix you up, or would you rather do it? I'm genuinely asking."

A few more moments without a response, before Wes gently prodded a finger against Woodie's chest. He mouthed the word "You.". The poor man didn't feel or look certain one bit, but he trusted Woodie. 

"Alright. Lemme see that leg of yours then, okay?" 

Wes shifted, before outstretching his wounded leg. It was taken in firm, but gentle hands, stripping away the bandages. He didn't dare look at the mangled mess that was his leg, astutely aware of the bloody flesh that peeled away with the honey covered papyrus. Wes' lips quivered as he turned his gaze away, his fingers balling up into the fabric of his pants. That was another thing he missed. Proper medical care. They were doing their best out here. Woodie was murmuring something under his breath as he worked around the wound. It stuck to the point it burned. 

Wes choked a sob, biting his lip. He covered his face with a hand as Woodie wiped away the blood and excess honey from his calf with a wet cloth. His entire leg felt like it had caught fire. The pain jolted up his calf, into his thigh. He swallowed hard, glancing at his torn leg. 

Morbid curiosity. 

He was greeted with the image of skin muddled with a disgusting concoction of crimson red, translucent gold, and exposed flesh. Oh. Oh dear, he was sick to his stomach. Covering his mouth with a hand, Wes squeezed his eyes shut. Was he almost done with cleaning up the wound? A few more tears dribble down Wes' cheeks, biting his lip to hold back sobs. Yesterday it had been worse, when the wound was still fresh. He felt like bawling his eyes out. He shouldn't be used to feeling this way, he shouldn't be used to being this hurt. It felt like all the breath had been stolen from his lungs. Like an anvil had been dropped on his chest and left there. This wasn't normal. None of this was normal. Wes's hands pull away from his pants, covering his ears attempting to blot out the ringing in them.

There was a bandage being applied to his leg. 

Wes hadn't even noticed Woodie wrapping the poultice around it, having spaced out. He looked down, fixated on his partner and nothing else. Nothing else. The anxiety he felt before still ebbed at the back of his mind; gnawing at the fine strings of whatever was keeping him from up and having a panic attack. _He looks so focused_, Wes thought to himself, trying to make a distraction for himself. The woodsman's brow was furrowed, eyes squarely on the bandages, making sure not to mess up. His hands were so steady, and yet he seemed to be so concerned to make a mistake. The last roll of bandage was applied, and then cut with the sharp edge of an axe. Not Lucy, he noted. 

"There we go! All fixed up." Woodie said as he sat up, firmly clapping a hand over Wes' shoulder. The scrawnier man shuttered at the rough gesture, tears still bubbling at his eyes. He rubs at them, taking a moment before he grinned sheepishly at Woodie, showing his approval. 

There was stark, uncharacteristic silence from Woodie as he gathered up the supplies and bloodied bandages from the ground. Wes took the opportunity to clear up his tears & running nose with a cloth he kept in his pocket. There was a clatter as he heard his partner dump the things unceremoniously into a heap over in a corner somewhere, and his heels as he turned back toward him. Wes sniffled again, squeezing his eyes shut. A warm arm wrapped about his shoulder, holding him close, Woodie's beard scuffing at Wes's neck. 

He took his small hand quietly, holding it in his larger ones, shaking it softly. "You're gonna be okay, y'hear?" Woodie murmured quietly, his voice a deep rumble against Wes. 

The mime nodded, not sure whether he meant mentally or physically. He wanted to feel better in both ways. Nearly having a panic attack while getting his mangled leg patched up. Perfect timing. Another sniffle. He leaned against Woodie. The comfort was nice at least. 

"C'mere." Woodie shifted, pulling his arms around either side of him. He held him close, Wes burying his face in the crook of Woodie's neck. The lumberjack gently ran his hand through his hair. Wes was trembling against him, clinging to him, hands grasping at his flannel balled up into fists. Lips quivering and blinking quickly to avoid another outburst, Wes his his face in his shoulder. It was embarrassing to cry. It was so embarrassing to cry. Wes sniffled, biting his lip, shaking his head. He wanted to go home, take Woodie with him and have a normal life again. Even if his life wasn't all that normal before the Constant. He didn't care. Wes whimpered against Woodie's shoulder, tears streaming down his face. He didn't care, he wanted to go home.

"Hey, hey, hey. Shh..." Woodie's fingers were still putsing with his hair, rubbing the back of his neck occasionally. "You're gonna be okay." Wes choked a sob, nodding against his shoulder. "You're gonna be okay. Let it all out."

Tears soaked Woodie's shoulder, staining his thick flannel. A hiccup broke from Wes, causing more tears to stream down his face. This was embarrassing, he was a grown man. He squeezed his eyes shut, clutching Woodie closer, he didn't deserve to sit here and hold him while he cried. Bottling up his emotions was something he was used to, he didn't see why it had to change now. Maybe it had to do with being around someone who genuinely wanted him around. Was that it? He felt his jaw clench, sniffling. Fingers loosened up against Woodie's back, although squeezing him tighter. He wanted to say thank you. 

"There we go. It's alright. Shh, shh."

Wes nodded, sitting up, resting his hands on Woodie's shoulders. He sniffled, a few stray tears dripping off his cheeks. "Feelin' better?" He asked, plucking the cloth up off Wes' lap, placing it in his hands. 

Another nod, taking the handkerchief thankfully. He rubbed at his eyes, quietly sighing. Cleaning up the tears smudged his makeup, but he couldn't expect to keep it forever out here. Maybe he ought to remove all of it at some point. No way of reapplying, he wouldn't think. A sniffle, but Wes looked up at Woodie, looking far more content. Wes slumped against his chest, closing his eyes. He was still tired. The injury already took a lot of energy out of him, and crying didn't help. He just felt tired, and his throat was raw, and dry. A hand ran through his hair again, fingers combing through it carefully. 

"There we are..." Woodie said quietly. His voice was deep and accented, softer than gravel, but it had the same rasp. It rumbled against Wes' ear as he spoke, right along the steady beat of his heart. A trembling hand placed itself against his chest, the mime silent as always. His breaths were slow and deliberate, a feeble attempt to calm himself down. 

Woodie twirled a strand of Wes' hair between his fingers. "Feeling better, at all?" He asked.

A nod. He sniffed, pulling his knees close. He really couldn't be strong in anyway, could he? Can't throw a punch, can't keep himself from crying like he was five again. The low hum and rhythm of Woodie's breathing was nice though. He was so sweet to him, even when he didn't have to be. Could of easily thrown him to the side after barely being able to hold his own in a fight, let alone keep himself fed. But he didn't, and Wes appreciated him for that. He closed his eyes again, still tired from everything. Maybe Woodie wouldn't mind if he rested. Maybe he would, but he didn't think he'd be that mad. Wes lay there, lying still against him, being lulled back to sleep by the comfort of what he could call home.

**Author's Note:**

> everyone & their mother's used that word for the title but nothing else was quite fitting.


End file.
